Cycles
by PerennialChild
Summary: On the train ride to Hogwarts, Ron has one (1) introspective epiphany, which immediately messes up his life, and, possibly, history. AU: Slytherin Ron, Slytherin Harry, Ravenclaw Hermione, and an ever-so-slightly better adjusted Draco. Chapter 1: Ron heroically refuses to make friends


Harry Potter was sitting inside of an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

His presence on the train shouldn't have surprised Ron so much, and yet—it did. As he came from a wizarding family, Ron had known nearly all his life he was of an age with The Boy Who Lived. He'd read the comics, bought the toys. He'd playacted at being Harry Potter and defeating Dark wizards when he was a kid. And maybe that was part of the problem. Harry Potter seemed—mythical, fictional somehow. How could he be a flesh-and-blood boy doing something as ordinary as sitting on the Hogwarts Express? If he were real, if he were going to Hogwarts, shouldn't he be riding a dragon or flying in as an Animagus or being carried in on Dumbledore's back or something?

And his compartment was empty. Partly because he didn't really look like the Boy Who Lived was supposed to—scrawny and pale, for one, and his hair must be covering the scar, since Ron didn't see it earlier—but also partly because Fred and George were actively warding oncoming boarders from the site with extravagant rumors that they'd seen Harry Potter elsewhere on the train. _Wouldn_ _'t want to make him deal with any fame-grubbing hangers-on, would we?_ they said, as if they weren't already planning on ingratiating themselves, on using Ron to ingratiate themselves to him. It was this mercenary attitude of theirs, if nothing else, that convinced Ron they weren't having him on about the black-haired boy being the Boy Who Lived.

So here they were, the twins already getting distracted by news of Lee Jordan's tarantula, and Ron's hand reaching towards the compartment's handle.

 _Fame-grubbing hangers-on._

He paused.

As anyone who knew Ron could tell you, Ron wasn't always the most self-reflective person. Even so, every once in a while—generally, when it was most inconvenient for him—he'd get a flash, ever so brief, of perfect self awareness. As his fingers brushed the handle just such a jolt hit him, promptly ruining everything. For he knew then, that behind his own burning curiosity— _what is he like?_ —behind his disdain for the twins' calculations, behind his earnest desire to make a new friend, there was something mercenary in him too, urging him forward. They were the same age. No one else was around. Ron could be the first friend, the best friend of the most famous person in Hogwarts—that might help get him noticed as something other than So-and-so's brother, wouldn't it?

The thought gave him a chill. What kind of a person was he, to be thinking things like that? _And anyway, I_ _'d be trading it for being So-and-so's friend, wouldn't I?_

The twins scampered to Lee's part of the train. Ron's hand dropped.

No. If he was going to be somebody, it had to be for something other than this.

The other compartments were miserably full. Ron wandered for quite some time looking for a seat. He found one—finally—which only seemed to have any room by dint of it being occupied entirely by first years. On the left, there was a pale, pinch-faced boy nearly engulfed by the heavyset swarthier boys on either side. All looked thoroughly miserable, and it wasn't hard to see why, for on the right was a bushy-haired girl, already in her Hogwarts robes and loudly pontificating about their schoolbooks, of all things.

"What'd you have to open the door for? You'll let Trevor out,"

This from the other occupant, a squashy, nervous looking kid. Ron could only just make his voice out over the girl, who didn't seem to be breathing at all during her lecture. "Trevor's my toad," the boy clarified, at Ron's bemused stare.

"He probably jumped out the window to get away from the _nattering,_ " the pinch-faced boy sighed. The loud girl's face colored with anger.

"Oh, I hope not!" The boy frantically began checking around his seat and in his pockets, with a slowly dawning horror. He gaped at the open window. "If he did that, he'd die!"

"Don't be _ridiculous_ , Neville, he can't have jumped out of the window," the girl said impatiently. "Trevor is a _toad,_ not a _frog_ , he doesn't have pads on his fingers so he can't climb on glass, and he can't hop that high or that far. You probably _did_ let him out, you know," she said, directing this last bit at Ron.

"Er…sorry, I guess?" Ron couldn't wrap his mind around why the boy looked so devastated. A toad was a pathetic pet to have—more pathetic even than his own pet rat. If Ron were him, he would have lost the thing on purpose.

"Well all there's left to do is look for him!" the girl announced, taking the now faintly green Neville by the elbow and marching him toward the entrance. "Going to help, are you?" she asked Ron.

"Er…it's just a toad, isn't it…"

At the girl's questing glance, the pale boy made a show of settling more comfortably in his seat. Remarkably, he succeeded, though his two seatmates looked decidedly less comfortable for it.

"Fine!" she barked. "You two—" she gestured between Ron and the pale boy, "—should get along wonderfully. You're both awful, and, and— _rude little gremlins!_ "

She flounced off, Neville in tow.

Ron let out a low whistle as he sat down. "Overreaction much?" he murmured. One of the larger boys got up to join him on the now-roomier right hand side of the compartment, and as Ron looked up it was to see an oddly calculating expression on the pale boy's face across from him. It remained just a moment, before it smoothed out into a sunny smile. Uncanny.

"Good job on getting rid of her; she was insufferable," he said.

"Not like I did it for you," Ron muttered.

The smile froze in place. "Might I ask your name?"

"Ron." That clearly wasn't enough for the boy, and Ron wasn't quite bold enough to let the silence lie. "…Weasley."

He was hoping desperately for indifference when he said it—as usual, it was a lost cause. Yet amazingly, the pale boy's face didn't light up the same way most others' did, right before they launched into praising his brothers' achievements. Instead, the boy frowned. "I—suppose there are worse people to share a compartment with."

 _Worse people?_ He had a tone like he was being gracious—just who the hell did he think he was? "Well, what's your name then?" Ron snapped.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the boy said haughtily. "And this is Crabbe, and Goyle."

Ron couldn't help but snicker at the name, even as his own expression soured. That explained the reaction and then some. The Malfoys were only among the most disgusting Blood Purists holding seats in the Wizengamot, according to his dad—they and the Weasleys had been feuding for generations because of it. Didn't look like that would end today, either. Ron wasn't going to start the year by being condescended to. "Yeah, I knew seating in first year was supposed to be a crapshoot, but I never guessed it would be a _shitshow_ ," Ron said.

Malfoy looked affronted. Good. Unfortunately, he recovered quickly. "Yes, I see you've made quite a display of yourself. Which beggar was it you stole those rags off of, Weasley? Did he defecate himself before you put them on, or is that smell just you?"

"Honestly, I can't smell anything over that awful perfume you're wearing. What is it? Eu de _New Money?_ "

It was really too bad they were having this exchange in a closed compartment. Zingers like this were meant for the appreciation of a crowd—and apparently, Malfoy felt the same, for he had Crabbe and Goyle begin muscling Ron towards the door.

"Are you a connoisseur of food as well as perfume?" Malfoy asked. His goons were like sacks of concrete—impossible to get past. The one named Crabbe began sliding the compartment door open. "I have to ask, since you're about to _eat shit._ "

Three to one. Bad odds, and they were probably just trying to scare him into running off. Fighting them would just be acting on stupid pride—but then again, Ron wasn't always so great at self-reflection. He began reaching for his wand—

—and the squashy-looking boy poked his head into the compartment.

All three of the other boys were back in their seats faster than Ron could blink.

"I just saw the most amazing thing!" Neville said. "Ten compartments up. _Harry Potter_ _'s on the train!_ "

Malfoy leapt back to his feet. "Wasn't that just a rumor? People looked and didn't find him."

"Must not have been," Neville said. He frowned. "He was by himself, and he looked pretty lonely. But, you know, I have to find Trevor—I thought maybe you all could keep him company?"

"That's thoughtful of you, Longbottom. Of course we will. Won't we?"

Crabbe and Goyle nodded emphatically.

"We still have to check the back of the train!" a bossy voice called out. Neville sighed.

"Listen—do you think it would be obvious if I tried to buy another one?" he asked Malfoy, in an undertone.

"I don't think you could conceal a purchase from _your_ grandmother," Malfoy said. "Not even if you got someone else to do it. You'd be better off just trying to catch one from around the lake."

"I might have to." The girl called out again, and Neville groaned. "Talk to you later?"

"Of course."

 _Well, that was bizarre._

Neville rushed off, and Malfoy turned back to Ron, once more with a calculating expression. "I appear to have lost my temper a moment ago. Unfortunately, I'm known for having a short fuse. But you're not half bad—I see you give as good as you get."

"Don't try to goad me into apologizing to you. Are you really going to go suck up to Harry Potter?"

Malfoy gave him an odd little smile. "I'm going to befriend a lonely person. Would you rather I ostracize him?"

"Historically, the people the Malfoys ostracize usually end up better off than the people they befriend."

This time, it was Malfoy who started reaching for his pocket. Crabbe and Goyle made as if to stop him—weird—but what he pulled out wasn't a wand.

There was nothing smooth in his smile now.

"You must feel that way about the Weasleys too, seeing as you're hell-bent on ostracizing everyone you meet. Noble of you, but I happen to believe making friends is a good thing." The thing in his hands croaked weakly as he set it on the seat beside Ron. "If you ever feel like changing strategies, you could start with Toad-boy. He's oblivious, so he might just buy it."

He was off before Ron could say a word.

He cupped the toad in his hand, staring into its eyes like they might conceal crystal balls. What was that just then? Malfoy gave him a toad he clearly stole from Neville—he was just as clearly on good terms with him; Ron couldn't expect Neville would believe him if he told him Malfoy was responsible. So he gave Ron the toad to…give back? To make a friend? To rub it in his face that Ron knew how terrible he was and couldn't do anything about it?

 _Evil git._ Ron briefly considered throwing the toad out the window, just to be contrary. But he wasn't an ass. He stroked its head instead. He'd been a complete idiot today, hadn't he? He should have just sat with Harry Potter at the beginning, when he had the chance.


End file.
